


Always and Forever

by KatieSkarlette



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Aging, Body Horror, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, One Shot, Romance, Tragic Romance, Undeath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:07:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25061362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatieSkarlette/pseuds/KatieSkarlette
Summary: A human lifespan is a fraction of an elf's, a fact which looms over both the Ranger-General of Silvermoon and her beloved Ranger Lord Marris.  The good news is, it wasn't nearly as much of a problem as they thought it would be.  The bad news is, well...undeath.
Relationships: Nathanos Blightcaller/Sylvanas Windrunner
Comments: 12
Kudos: 29





	Always and Forever

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by recent discussions on Tumblr about these two, and debate over how old Nathanos was when he fell to the Scourge.
> 
> The first part is set about a year before the Scourge ravaged Lordaeron and Quel'thalas, and the second is set just after an Alliance raid group beat up Nathanos in the Eastern Plaguelands (which could be either late vanilla or the start of Cataclysm, depending on when the zone revamps were supposed to take place.)

A warm summer breeze rippled the royal blue curtains around the four-poster bed where Sylvanas Windrunner was slowly waking up. She rubbed her eyes and stretched, pushing her bare legs out from under the tangled silk sheets. As she oriented herself to the time of day, she realized the other half of the bed was unoccupied, and felt a pang of disappointment. Nathanos usually stayed with her until she arose. 

Perhaps he was in the bath. He wouldn't leave her quarters and wander the Farstriders' headquarters at this time of the morning. Even if their relationship was the worst-kept secret in all of Quel'thalas he always tried to be discreet.

Sylvanas flung aside the rest of the sheets and sat up, looking around for some sign of her lover. His clothes were no longer on the floor at the foot of the bed where she had last seen them, and her garments had been picked up, neatly folded, and set on the bureau nearby. A fond smile crossed her face as she imagined him doing so. Always so respectful of her, her things, her rank, her culture... She wished he didn't still feel like an outsider to Quel'thalas even after all these years, with the title of Ranger Lord before his name. He assured her that he felt belonging in her arms, and nothing else mattered.

Her sharp senses alerted her to his presence in the adjacent sitting room. She slipped into a loose bathrobe of sheer, violet fabric and tied it around her waist with a white-trimmed sash, then ran a brush through her long, golden hair before seeking him out.

Nathanos Marris wore the same sturdy leather breeches from the day before but nothing else, standing bare-chested at the floor-to-ceiling window that looked out over the vast expanse of Eversong Woods. From this high tower, the keen eyes of a ranger could just barely make out the spires of the elfgate separating Quel'thalas from the eastern reaches of Lordaeron.

He had his arms crossed on his chest and a serious, almost grim cast to his face. His failure to turn or comment on her approach caused her to pout just a little as she stepped into his line of sight. "My, my, someone's deep in thought this morning," she teased.

A subdued smile took form as he laid eyes on her, backlit by sunlight that made her robe even more transparent. "You could say that," he mumbled.

Sensing his disquiet, she tilted her head in concern and placed a hand on his arm. "What troubles you?"

He avoided eye contact. "I... I'm getting old, Sylvanas."

She blinked in surprise. "What?"

He turned aside and ran a hand across the top of his head. "I'm going gray. Don't tell me you haven't noticed."

She made a dismissive noise. "A strand here and there, but it's only noticeable up close." She stepped in front of him again and took his face in her hands, forcing him to look into her bright blue eyes. "What does it matter?"

"It matters," he said gruffly, "because I'm human. The years are not as kind to us as they are to you elves. Judging by my father, I'll be silver-headed by the time I'm fifty. I already have wrinkles on my face. Another ten years and my joints will start to ache. My strength and stamina will fade. In a few decades' time I might not even be able to walk anymore."

"We have magic that can ease such ills," Sylvanas said calmly. "Our king is elderly even by our standards, and he can still ride a hawkstrider and swing a sword."

"That's not the point!" he snapped. "Before you know it, I'll shrivel away and die, and you...you'll be just as radiant as ever." There was anger in his voice, but she knew it wasn't directed at her, and was not born of jealousy. The pain in his eyes was for her, who would have to watch it happen and then go on without him.

She slipped her arms around his back and laid her head on his shoulder. "Nathanos," she murmured. "Don't dwell on such thoughts. Enjoy the time we have."

His muscles were tense, and even her embrace did not help. He drew back. "I should go. Retire back to the family farm and spare you from having to watch me...deteriorate."

"You will do no such thing! You are still strong, swift, quick-witted, and a master bowman. There's no need to do anything drastic now, or ever."

"Maybe not yet, but the day will come, Sylvanas. One day I won't be able to scale a tree like I do now, or draw my bow." He held out his hands as if imagining them becoming shaky and brittle.

"And I will still love you."

"You'll still be just as vibrant, agile, and full of life, and I'll be a doddering, old fool."

"As opposed to the strong, young fool you are now?" she teased.

This only produced the barest glimmer of a smile, so she took him in her arms again and kissed him earnestly, trying to pour all the love and admiration she had for him into the gesture. After only a moment's reluctance his hands began to move over her body with a mind of their own, running up and down her back and sides, under her breasts, and up to tangle his fingers into her hair.

"I love you," she said into his ear. "I love you as you are, and I will love you for the rest of your days, however many there may be."

"I love you," he echoed. His hands returned to her back as he hugged her tighter, as if he could freeze time by doing so. "I always have, and I always will."

"Always." She brushed a thumb across his chin, where a hint of silver was indeed taking over his beard, and kissed him again.

* * *

The Banshee Queen stood in the arched doorway, trying far too hard to look like she wasn't worried about the broken corpse currently being worked on by the finest fleshcrafters in the Undercity. "Report!" she snarled.

A Forsaken man who wore a mask to obscure the fact that most of his jaw was missing cringed and bowed low. "Dark Lady, there was quite a lot of damage to repair, but--"

"So repair it!"

"Yes, my queen! We're almost done. Just another few minutes."

"I could have fixed this myself in half the time if my right arm was still attached," griped a snide voice that was achingly familiar.

Sylvanas kept her expression neutral as she strode over to the slanted worktable where Nathanos lay. The two fleshcrafters who had been busy trying to reattach his arm and reconstruct his shattered ribs immediately stepped back, bowing to their leader.

"Keep working!" she ordered, and they nearly ran into each other in their haste to do so.

Nathanos' glassy, dead eyes stared up at her from the table, betraying only the faintest hint of all the things he no doubt wanted to say. It had been well over a year since they had seen each other.

Sylvanas tilted her head, appraising what pallid flesh still clung to his skull. "I told you staying out there, all by yourself in the middle of nowhere wouldn't end well."

"I had my hounds."

She snorted. "Who are in even more pieces than you are, Blightcaller."

"They held their own against a small army before they fell," he said, just a bit of defensiveness creeping into his tone.

One of the fleshcrafters finished weaving fresh sinew around his collarbone and gently tested the range of motion in his arm. Now able to move it on his own, Nathanos shooed her away and stretched it carefully, clenching and unclenching his fist. "It'll do," he groused.

Sylvanas laid a gloved hand on his brow, absently brushing back a tangled tuft of brown hair that somehow hadn't fallen out yet before recalling herself and dropping her hands to her sides. "You know, I didn't seek you out and free you from the Lich King's control so you could get yourself destroyed by a bunch of meddling Alliance."

She didn't say why she _had_ done so, but the unspoken truth of it crackled between them.

"I told you one day you'd have to watch my body fall apart," Nathanos said softly.

The other Forsaken around them had no way of knowing the context of his comment, of course, and continued their work without reacting.

Sorrow briefly flickered across Sylvanas' face before icy indifference returned. "That you did. Fortunately that's a minor inconvenience to us now."

The fleshcrafter finished stitching up his abdomen and stood back to admire her handiwork. "Done. I won't say 'good as new,' but your guts are back inside and your bones should hold together, as long as you don't jump off a roof or something."

Nathanos scooted to the edge of the table and tentatively put weight on his legs. Finding that they would hold him, he gave a curt nod of thanks and headed for the door without a backward glance.

Sylvanas's red eyes narrowed. "I did not dismiss you yet, Blightcaller."

He stopped in his tracks and turned back to her, something resembling a grin on his mangled face. "I assumed you wanted to debrief me privately," he said with exaggerated innocence.

"As well as punish you for your insolence," she said with a warning glare.

His grin only widened. "Of course, my lady." He bowed until she had swept past him out the door, then followed.

As they made their way down the damp, musty corridors of the Undercity, they naturally fell into step beside each other. Many Forsaken stopped to show respect to her as they passed, which she acknowledged with stone-faced nods.

Nathanos had spent little time in the Undercity, but was content to follow wherever she led him. After a number of twists and turns and a secret passageway that was enchanted to only appear for her, they reached a dead-end corridor with a set of double doors at the end. The wood was rotting away, held together by cobwebs more than its own structure, yet swung open easily at her touch.

These were the Banshee Queen's personal chambers, off-limits to even her most loyal dark rangers. The decor was sparse and utilitarian without a trace of the opulence that might be expected for the leader of a nation. Nathanos stood uncertainly in the middle of the room as she secured the door, removed her hooded cloak, and finally approached him. She looked him over from head to toe, brow creasing in concern at the dilapidated state of his body. Even with the recent repairs, he had clearly seen better days.

"We need to do something about this," she mumbled, slowly shaking her head.

He quirked an inquisitive eyebrow. "About what?"

"You. Your body is falling apart."

"It's the only one I have," he said with a slight shrug that made one of his shoulder blades poke out through a tear in his tunic.

She tapped her chin, deep in thought. After a moment, she went on. "Anyway, you will be staying here in the Undercity from now on."

"I...will?"

"Yes. It's safer."

"Rubbish," he scoffed. "I'm perfectly capable of protecting myself. I just faced off against, what was it? Thirty or forty Alliance?"

"Yes, and if you hadn't had the sense to feign death you'd be nothing more than shreds of carrion right now!" The fire in her words didn't quite conceal the worry behind them. "I won't have you risking yourself like that again!"

"My queen, I--"

"That's a direct order, Marris."

They stared at each other for a moment. She had used his surname. Not "Blightcaller." 

Sylvanas sighed and dropped her gaze to the floor. "What you said, back there...that someday I would have to watch you fall apart... I'm surprised you remembered that."

"A snippet of memory does surface from time to time," he said. "It's all rather hazy. But I do recall a discussion about our expected lifespans, and how mine would almost inevitably be much shorter than yours."

She stepped closer and lightly put her hands on his shoulders, as if she was afraid he would collapse with a firmer touch. "And you were right," she said quietly. "You did die before me. But only by a day or two."

"I should have been with you," he said in little more than a whisper.

"You're with me now," she said. "And always will be. Somehow, I'll see to that. I promise."

Bones creaking, he raised his recently-mended arm and brushed a gnarled finger across her cheek as if wiping away the tears that were permanently seared into her flesh. "Always, my lady. Always."


End file.
